Five Times the Team Depended on Each Other
by LinziDay
Summary: Pretty much what the title implies... or, you know, states flatly. Lots of whump for all.


**Title:** Five Times the Team Depended on Each Other for Survival

**Author:** LinziDay

**Genre/ Rating:** Gen/PG13 for swearing

**Spoilers:** Each snippet takes place in a different season, so spoilers through The Seed, the second ep of Season 5.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, I would be there. I am not there. Come to your own conclusion.

**AN:**Written for the LJ ficathon. For wildcat88 who asked for team depending on each other for survival (thus my ultra-creative title), snarky banter, and Shep and/or McKay whump. Here's the thing — I couldn't come up with a single good story idea. So instead I wrote... um, five? Yeah, not sure how I thought that would be easier! I interpreted "depending on each other" to be emotional as well as physical, though there's whump in every snippet.

Great thanks to beta Kriadydragon/ Stealth Dragon!

* * *

**_After arriving in Atlantis _**

Sheppard gritted his teeth in frustration. "McKay," he ground out, "will you just sit down?"

Rodney stopped pacing, his rolled up pant cuffs sliding down unevenly so the right sat just above his shin and the left pooled around his ankle, brushing the sand. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and glared at Sheppard. "No. God no. God no, never ever, this is the worst idea in the world, in _two galaxies_, in fact, and if you'd just uncloak the damn puddle jumper and let me have my laptop, I'll go wait in there and work until you've finished reveling in this — " he flapped his free hand at the sand, the water, and the bright blue sky — "death trap."

"It's the beach, McKay. A field trip to the beach."

"Death," McKay enunciated harshly. "Trap."

Sheppard sighed and moved the cooler to keep the edge of the blanket from curling in the afternoon breeze. Really, this was supposed to be fun. He'd noticed this little stretch of beach during a flyover last week and he thought it'd be cool to take his team out on their next day off. Sun, surf and snacks. A bit of bonding without the threat of being eaten by space vampires.

Sheppard leaned back on his elbows and scanned the horizon. It was a beautiful day, warm even in his shorts and t-shirt. The sun sparkled and danced on the water, and, in the distance, he could just make out Ford as he tried to catch a wave with the surfboard he'd borrowed from someone in the expedition. Teyla was much closer, floating serenely just a few dozen yards away, her yellow one-piece bathing suit (also borrowed) a bright punctuation in the dark blue water.

McKay huffed and flopped down on the blanket.

"I'm getting skin cancer as we speak, you know," he said, sullen.

"C'mon, McKay, we're friends. A team. We should start acting like one." Sheppard eyed the thick glob of white cream on McKay's nose. "Besides, you're wearing sunscreen. What is that, like SPF 45?"

"One hundred," McKay said, looking very pleased with himself. "I make it. It's a mix of — "

"Sandwich?" Sheppard reached toward the cooler in the hopes that food would deflect the speech.

Happily, he was right.

"Ooh, yes," McKay said. As soon as Sheppard got the lid off, McKay dove in up to his elbows and emerged with three sandwiches. He'd already eaten half of one by the time Sheppard realized none of the three were coming his way.

"Hey," he said.

When McKay looked up, Sheppard raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the remaining sandwiches balanced on McKay's knee. The scientist's eyes narrowed and darted warily between Sheppard and his food, as if the team had been stranded on a desert island and Sheppard was demanding the last coconut.

And did the man seriously just scoot a couple of inches away?

"I'm your ride home," Sheppard reminded him.

"There's more food in the cooler," McKay reminded _him_.

"You grabbed the only three with almost-turkey," Sheppard said and snatched one of the sandwiches. McKay let out an indignant squawk but wasn't fast enough to stop him.

Sheppard unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.

"I'll have you know, Major, that almost-turkey was the least likely thing in the cooler to contain citrus. I'm deathly allergic to — " McKay paled and held his half-eaten sandwich out at arm's length. "It _doesn't_ have citrus in it, right? Because I didn't bring an Epi-pen and I don't think Carson's had a chance to reconfigure the jumpers' first aid kits like I requested, and we're at least 20 minutes from Atlantis, even the way you fly, and —"

"Don't worry," Sheppard said around a mouthful of bread and meat. "I wouldn't bring anything with lemon, lime or grapefruit in it. C'mon, don't you trust me?"

"No," McKay scoffed, like it was a ridiculous question. "And also? You didn't mention oranges."

Sheppard gazed out at the water, idly watching Ford clamber onto his board. "Oranges. Good vitamin C." He fought the grin that twitched on his lips. "Why? They citrus?"

McKay sputtered, and from the corner of his eye Sheppard noticed he was turning an interesting shade of purple.

"Easy, McKay. I'm kidding. I'd never —"

He saw Ford fall the same moment he heard him yell.

"Dammit!" Sheppard cursed, dropping his sandwich in the sand and bolting toward the water. Ford had hit his head on the board before he went under. He hadn't come up.

Sheppard dove into the ocean, barely registering the sting of cold. He kicked out and fought to cover the distance with long, fast strokes. The red and green surfboard bobbed far ahead. He still didn't see the kid surface. _Up! Come up!_

He was so focused on the board, on getting there, that he almost missed Telya gliding past him, fast. He was still a good hundred yards out when she reached the spot and plunged, and for thirty seconds Sheppard's entire world went silent and small, narrowed to the strip of calm water that separated him and two teammates.

Then Teyla surfaced, gasping a breath as she broke the water, Ford unconscious in her grip. She had him, didn't need Sheppard's help, so he swam beside her and did a visual sweep for injuries as they headed to shore. A bloody gash to his right temple. Skin pale, lips tinged blue.

He wasn't breathing.

Sheppard started mouth-to-mouth in the water. When they reached the shore, dragging Ford just beyond the lapping waves, McKay pushed between them.

"Water in his lungs," McKay said and hauled Ford up and into the Heimlich maneuver. With his arms around Ford's stomach, his hands clenched in fists, McKay thrust in and up once. Twice.

"Breathe, damn you. Breathe!" McKay growled.

Three times.

Four.

Water shot from Ford's mouth and the young lieutenant coughed and heaved and gagged. McKay laid him on the sand, rolling him on him side, where Ford, still not fully conscious, proceeded to throw up what looked like half the ocean.

Sheppard glanced at McKay, who was bent forward, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Didn't know you could do that," Sheppard said.

McKay rolled his eyes. "You don't know everything about me, Major." He straightened. "Medical team's on its way."

Sheppard uncloaked the jumper and stumbled toward it, his legs burning as struggled through the sand that felt thicker than before. He pulled a first aid kit and emergency blankets from the back, returning to wrap one of the blankets around Teyla — who was holding Ford's head — before covering the lieutenant.

It took him a minute to open the med kit. His hands were cold and stiff and shaking a little as the adrenaline bled from his system. Just as the kit finally opened with a soft _snick_, he felt a blanket drape lightly around his own shoulders. Sheppard looked up with surprise.

McKay dropped to sit beside him.

**_After Ronon joins_**

Rodney slapped his earpiece as he pounded toward the open wormhole. He was pretty sure he shouted _Coming in hot!_ but his heart thundered his ears, drowning out his own voice.

Ahead, Teyla disappeared through the gate at a run, Sheppard right behind her, and for a wild, giddy moment Rodney thought he might actually make it off PX-whatever-the-hell alive.

Then a bullet skimmed his ear, all heat and whine and the promise of _bad, bad things. _

He ran harder and screamed (a yell of manly terror, thank you very much). Blue enveloped him an instant later and he was in the gateroom, momentum propelling him forward until he stumbled from the change in ground surface and went sprawling. Still screaming.

And so, for a moment, there was chaos.

"Dr. McKay — "

"Crap! Rodney —"

"Get a medical team down here —"

Hands were on his head, arms, legs and chest, pulling away his tac vest, lifting his shirt, checking for injuries. He didn't feel any pain. Oh god, no pain. That was bad, so bad. Rodney stopped screaming but screwed his eyes shut. He really didn't want to watch himself bleed to death.

"I don't see anything."

"Where was he hit?"

"I don't — "

Rodney realized two things at once. He was not, apparently, mortally wounded. And Ronon, who had been covering him, hadn't come through the ga —

Something hard and heavy hit his head and the lights went out.

XX

"You landed on me?" Rodney gingerly touched the bandage fixed to his right temple. It _hurt_. "You landed on me!"

From the next infirmary bed, Ronon looked grouchy. "You were in the way."

Rodney sat up fast, grabbing the bedside railing as the room spun. "I was in the . . . I can't believe . . . you overgrown, sorry excuse for a —"

Teyla rose from her chair between the two beds and put a hand on Rodney's arm. "It was an accident. Ronon was injured and was not able to control his entry through the ring." She pinned Rodney with a look. "Much like what happened to you."

Rodney slouched down against the pillows and crossed his arms. He looked past Teyla to scowl at Ronon. "Yeah, well, when I tripped I didn't land on someone and nearly _kill_ them."

Ronon threw the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Rodney drew back. "No need to get physical."

Teyla frowned. "Ronon —"

"I'm getting out of here." Ronon slid off the edge of the bed to stand, instantly shifting his weight to his right leg.

That's when Rodney noticed Ronon was wearing a gown and his left leg was heavily bandaged. "Wait, whoa. What happened to you?"

"Got shot." Ronon said. Then to Teyla, "They have to cut my clothes?" When she nodded, he limped over to the supply cabinet and swiped a set of white scrubs.

The bandage was big, covering almost all of Ronon's leg from the shin to his knee, where it disappeared under the gown. Much too big for an ordinary gunshot wound. Rodney looked at Teyla, eyes wide. "How many times was he shot?"

"Couple," Ronon said, moving around to the far side of his bed.

"Four," Teyla corrected.

Ronon grunted noncommittally. Leaning against the edge of the bed with one hand, he pulled on the scrub pants with the other.

"Oh for godsakes. Why didn't he say something?" Rodney turned to Ronon. "Why didn't you say something? You know what, never mind. You're insane. Get back in bed."

Ronon grunted again — this time it almost sounded amused. He shucked off the gown and pulled the scrub top over his head, still leaning heavily on the bed with one hand.

"Look," Rodney said, "I don't know what doctors are like where you come from, but around here they don't like it when patients leave against medical advice. When Beckett finds you, and he _will _find you, you'll wish those bullets had — hey! Are you even listening to me?"

Ronon was limping toward the doorway. "See you around," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Rodney cursed. "Teyla, why didn't you try to stop him? He would've listened to you."

Teyla gazed at the doorway, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "Ronon does not like to be. . . confined. I do not believe he would have listened to me either."

"Well that's just idiotic. The barbarian's going to tear his stitches and bleed to death in the hallway."

Teyla patted Rodney's arm. "I'll go. Perhaps I can find him and convince him to return." She offered him a reassuring smile. "Rest. The colonel will be back soon with dinner."

And then she was gone.

Rodney would later blame his sudden impulse on the silence. The infirmary was just too quiet when you were alone. Everyone knew he didn't do quiet.

He tossed back his covers and got up. At least they'd put him in scrubs.

XX

He found Ronon on the east balcony, sitting with his back against the wall, his good leg bent at the knee and his injured leg straight out in front of him. He was staring out at the water.

Rodney radioed his location to Sheppard and Teyla, then stepped outside.

"How'd you find me?" Ronon asked gruffly before Rodney had taken two steps onto the balcony. He didn't look over.

Rodney paused, suddenly keenly aware he'd never been one-on-one with Ronon before. But, then again, the guy had just taken four bullets meant for him, so, really, the odds were pretty low that he'd kill him. "How'd you know it was me?"

Ronon's lips twitched in — was that a grin? "You're loud," he said.

Rodney moved onto the deck. "Yeah, well, you're predictable." He sat down across from Ronon, his back against the cool railing and the warm setting sun. "We've been on three missions and you came here after all of them."

"Wanted to be outside."

"Yeah."

"_Alone_."

"Yeah," Rodney said, because, as a genius, he knew when to be obtuse.

"McKay — "

"Well, you aren't alone, so get over it. Also? I figure Beckett's going to be so busy killing you for staging a breakout that he won't even bother with me. But for that to happen, you can't bleed to death first." He tossed at Ronon's lap the small blister pack of pain pills he'd appropriated from the drug cabinet and the roll of gauze he'd snagged from a medical cart on his way out of the infirmary. "Here."

For a long, infuriatingly silent moment, Ronon stared ahead, jaw tight. It was a hard stare. Intense. Then, without comment, Ronon tore into the blister pack and dry swallowed the pills. He hitched up the leg of his scrub pants and began wrapping his wounds.

Red splotched the original bandage, though not as much as Rodney had feared. Ronon was lucky. Rodney was lucky that Ronon was lucky, because if the Satedan hadn't been covering him, those bullets would have hit him and he wasn't —

"Thanks."

Rodney blinked. "What?"

Ronon had paused mid-wrap. He was looking at him. "Thanks."

Rodney nodded. He gestured to Ronon's gunshot wounds. "Thanks."

Ronon nodded and went back to wrapping his leg.

Sheppard and Teyla arrived a few minutes later with trays of food, including the meat pies Ronon liked and blue Jell-O for Rodney. They ate and watched the sun sink below the horizon, blue blending into pink and gold.

When Beckett showed up later, all bluster and worry, Rodney told him the breakout had been Sheppard's idea.

**_After returning to Atlantis_**

Sheppard billed it as a way to get everyone in the city reacquainted.

Rodney knew he just wanted a party.

"Seriously," he said when Sheppard showed up at the lab with a full MP3 player and a request that Rodney rig up a music system so people could dance in the mess hall, "what are you, head of the prom committee now?"

"There'll be cake." Sheppard pointed out.

Rodney glanced up from his perusal of Sheppard's play list. "Chocolate?"

"Is there any other kind?" Sheppard asked with a grin.

The prom — "_Celebration_," Elizabeth kept correcting him, sternly but with a trace of amusement — was held early evening, exactly one week after they returned. Rodney set up the sound system in the morning then disappeared to the lab. When he came back, he found the mess transformed, filled with streamers and gold lanterns and brightly colored balloons that bounced the last rays of the setting sun around the room. Light and lively music resonated throughout the hall, and at least a dozen people had already gathered on the makeshift dance floor. Everyone else mingled in small groups, eating, talking, laughing.

Rodney was not, never had been, never would be, a party person. But, for a moment, he stood in the doorway and marveled. They were home.

He was home.

Rodney expected to find Sheppard easily. The man was, after all, the very definition of a party person. He figured the colonel would be on the dance floor or chatting with Elizabeth next to the punch bowl or hanging out with a small squad of marines on the balcony.

But Rodney made three circuits around the party without success. Even though he chided himself for being ridiculous — so the man wasn't front and center at his own party; it didn't _necessarily_ mean he'd been involved in a freak Ancient-related accident and was off bleeding to death somewhere — Rodney's heart beat a little faster with each Sheppard-less pass. He was on his fourth circuit when he spotted Teyla and Ronon in their own circling search. Their expressions turned worried when they caught his eye, and the creeping uneasiness Rodney'd been feeling for the last fifteen minutes suddenly shot straight into full-blown anxiety.

"You can't find him either," Rodney said without preamble when Teyla and Ronon got close enough to hear him over the music.

"No, and we have not seen him all day. Nor have Elizabeth or Carson," Teyla said with a frown. "But we were not overly concerned until we saw you."

"Thought maybe Sheppard was trying to drag you away from the lab for the party," Ronon said.

They were already moving toward the door when Rodney said, "I haven't seen him since yesterday." They were already walking quickly down the hall when he tapped his radio and said, "Sheppard, you there? Sheppard?"

They'd already broken into a run by the time the open-channel buzz turned to unanswered silence.

It took Rodney exactly forty-two seconds to break into Sheppard's room, all while Ronon rested a hand on his gun and growled, "I could've opened the door faster."

"Yes, well," Rodney said as he slid crystal three into slot two, "if Atlantis didn't love Colonel I-Don't-Need-To-Show-Up-For-The-Party-That-Was-My-Idea-And-Who-Cares-If-I-Frighten-My-Team so much, I would have gotten in immediately. But _noooo_, gene boy here has to lock — I'm in."

The doors slid open with a whisper and, for a confused moment, Rodney thought both the city's sensors and the handheld lifesigns detector had been wrong, that Sheppard wasn't there. The room was dark, shadows highlighted by the fading sun outside and the light that spilled in from the hallway. Blinking into the darkness from the doorway, Rodney didn't see anything unusual: no Sheppard-shaped lump on the bed, no upturned furniture, no bloody pool. Then Ronon shouldered past him into the room and said "Here."

Sheppard was facedown on the floor, halfway between his bed and the bathroom.

Oh crap.

"Dr. Beckett," Rodney heard Teyla call on her radio. "We need medical assistance in Colonel Sheppard's quarters. He's —"

"Unconscious," Ronon said, rolling him over carefully and pressing his fingers to Sheppard's neck. "Got a pulse."

Rodney bumped up the lights. Sheppard was dressed in BDUs, his face pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat. The room was warm and humid, but Sheppard shivered, slight tremors running the length of his body.

"Fever," Ronon announced, with a hand to Sheppard's forehead.

Rodney's first instinct was to stumble back and away from the plague-ridden colonel. But this was his teammate, one of his best friends. He couldn't just leave.

Also, Teyla was between him and the door.

Instead, he slid past Ronon and Sheppard to the bathroom to get a couple of wet washcloths. When he returned, Ronon was laying Sheppard on the bed. He'd planned to toss him the cloths to cool Sheppard down, but the Ronon glanced up and moved out of the way for him to do it. Cursing under his breath, Rodney tentatively placed one of the cool cloths on Sheppard's forehead. Heat radiated off him like an oven.

Jesus. Forget the bleeding-to-death scenario.

"Where the hell is Carson?" Rodney demanded over his shoulder.

"He is on his way, Rodney," Teyla said, patient but also tense. "I am sure he is coming as quickly as he can."

Rodney slid the other cloth behind Sheppard's head and tucked it just at nape of his neck. "I'm giving him two more minutes then I'm — "

In his hand, Sheppard groaned and twisted away from the cool cloth at his neck. "Then you what, R'ny?

Rodney's heart leaped. "Sheppard, you awake?" He withdrew his hand from the back of the colonel's head. "Sheppard?"

Sheppard pulled his eyes open slowly, squinting miserably. Rodney dimmed the lights until he looked more comfortable. Even in low light his eyes were fever bright.

Sheppard rolled his head to look at them. "Hey, guys. Wha'sup?"

"Oh, nothing much," Rodney said sarcastically. "Party's going well. Radek spiked the punch. I think one of the new guys asked Elizabeth to dance. Oh, and we found you passed out on your floor, _dying_."

"Rodney," Teyla admonished. "Not dying."

"Fine," Rodney said, checking the cloth on Sheppard's head. It was already warm. "Not dying. Just self-boiling."

Sheppard blinked once, languid. "Okay." Then his eyes drifted closed and stayed closed.

Sheppard's temperature shot to 106 degrees and he suffered two seizures before doctors were able to get it down — to 104.

"The flu," Rodney fumed, pacing in front of Sheppard's infirmary bed. His words were meant for Teyla and Ronon, who sat beside the bed, but his eyes were fixed on Sheppard. The colonel looked drawn and haggard, pale except for the dark smudges under his eyes and a feverish blush to his cheeks. "I don't know how Carson can say this is the flu."

"I believe he said it was a virus like the flu," Teyla pointed out.

"Yes, well, Carson's been known to be wrong," Rodney snapped and instantly regretted it. He raked a hand through his hair. "I mean… I didn't mean… never mind."

Carson said Sheppard would likely wake up in a few days and make a full recovery. The word "likely" had set Rodney on edge.

He'd been pacing since Carson's pronouncement four hours earlier. His legs felt wobbly and sweat dampened the back of his neck, but he couldn't turn off the urge to move. They'd survived — survived earth and Replicators and_ earth — _and they were home and they'd only been there a week and there was no way in hell Sheppard could die, not now, not when they just got home.

"Sit," Ronon said, suddenly looming in front of him, a human wall.

Rodney halted but waved him off. "I'm fine. I don't need to — "

Ronon put a hand on his shoulder, steered him to the chair next to Teyla and pushed down until Rodney sat. "Stay," Ronon said, then sat down on the other side.

Rodney sagged in his seat. In front of him, the colonel shifted under the cooling blanket, his IV line swinging gently.

By day two, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon had to split their infirmary time into shifts. After three years and a hundred infirmary stays among them, they knew exactly how far they could push Carson. When he made noises about banning them from Sheppard's bedside if they didn't leave to get some sleep, they ignored him. When he ordered them out, they left for an hour or two and came back. When he called not only Lorne but also Elizabeth to escort them out, they knew it was time to stagger their vigils.

They split into four-hour shifts, Teyla first. The usual.

So on day three, Rodney was in line in the mess hall, in the middle of half-heartedly berating one of the new cooks for stupidly, homicidally, placing lemon chicken next to the meatloaf — "How have you not heard of _cross contamination_?" — when Ronon radioed.

"He's awake."

Rodney dropped his tray and dashed out.

Both Ronon and Teyla were there when he arrived. Sheppard was sitting up, still pale, still worn-down, but awake and talking. At the edge of the room, Rodney closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Then he continued in.

"Hey, buddy," Sheppard greeted, sounding tired. "Hear I missed the party."

"It's not that big a deal," Rodney said, nonchalantly striding over to the bed. He pulled up a chair and settled in. "That was just the first annual Atlantis prom. Plenty more where that came from."

**_After the Athosians go missing_**

Rodney screamed, guttural and ragged, when Sheppard touched his shoulder.

"Crap," he panted as Sheppard backed off and settled into an uneasy crouch. "Don't do that again. Oh god, please don't do that again."

Sheppard swallowed hard. "Rodney — "

"No," Rodney said, a declaration that might have been forceful if his voice hadn't cracked. "Just… no."

Sheppard stood, clenching and unclenching his fists, barely resisting the impulse to punch something, to beat something, _to tear the stone walls apart with his bare hands_.

A cakewalk. It was supposed to be a damn cakewalk, a quick trip through the gate for possible information about the Athosians from the friendly people of PX1-124. Fast and easy. Rodney wasn't even supposed to come, but Sheppard had cajoled him into it. "You need to get out of the lab. Take a walk. Spend some quality time with the other kids," he'd said. "It'll be good."

And it was. Right up until the rope bridge collapsed.

Ronon and Teyla were on firm ground when the bridge went out, stranded on the village side but safe. He and Rodney, on the other hand, had been right in the middle of the thing. They had little warning to hold on — a series of quick snaps and a single, hair-raising crack — before the bridge fell out from under them. Clinging to the rope, they'd missed the water and crashed instead into the side of the ravine.

A thick layer of moss cushioned Sheppard's collision. He'd walked away — well, not wholly unscathed, but bruised ribs were… bruised ribs.

Rodney smacked into sheer rock.

They'd managed to scramble into a small cave nestled high into the side of the ravine. They were safe and dry, but god only knew how long it would take Ronon and Teyla to circle around and either get them down or bring back help. And they had no way of tracking the progress because — _of course_ — their radios had been lost in the fall.

Sheppard glanced at Rodney, who was leaning against the far wall, staring hard at the ground. His face was pale, lined with pain. His breathing was shallow.

Sheppard had managed to get Rodney's tac vest off him, but any direct contact with his shoulder sent him into near-seizures of pain. He was pretty sure Rodney had something else going on — a head injury, internal bleeding, broken ribs — but he couldn't get close enough to tell what.

Sheppard paced the length of the cave: five steps up, five steps back, five steps up, five steps back —

_Dammit_. There was no way around this.

"Rodney," he said carefully, crouching in front of him again, close but not close enough to spook him. "Your shoulder is dislocated. I have to —"

"Nooo," Rodney said, turning the word into a plaintive wail that twisted Sheppard's stomach. He drew his knees to his chest and pressed back against the wall, cradling his arm tight against his body.

Sheppard placed his hand lightly on Rodney's knee and tilted his head to interrupt Rodney's line of sight. "I know your shoulder hurts, hurts like hell, and I'm not saying that popping it back into place is going to be fun — " Rodney made a high pitched noise in the back of his throat "— but it'll feel better afterward. I promise you."

"I just can't. . . .can't do this," Rodney stuttered. "I'm not good with pain, Sheppard, you know that about me. I'll. . . I'll just wait. Ronon and Teyla will be here soon and then they can go get Keller and morphine, lots and lots of morphine, and — "

"Rodney, we can't wait."

"Please don't." Rodney looked at him, _begged_ him. "Please don't do this."

"C'mon, buddy," Sheppard said, trying for light but hearing his voice catch in his throat, "don't you trust me?"

"Of course," Rodney scoffed, like it was a ridiculous question, even though his voice was small and thin with pain.

"Then trust me." Sheppard scuffled forward incrementally, feeling the dirt and rocks crunch under his boots. "Look, we'll do this together, okay? You and me."

"Together. You and me. You and me," Rodney repeated as if the words were a mantra, a charm to ward off the worst of what was to come. He shifted and winced, his eyes flicking sharply to Sheppard's. "Are we going to deal with the pain together, too? You take half?"

Sheppard moved closer and offered a tight, regretful smile. "Would if I could."

Rodney's knees were still drawn tightly to his chest, an effective barrier against the world. Sheppard hooked a hand around the back of his left ankle and tugged gently until Rodney straightened his leg flat against the ground.

"You probably would… take half, I mean," Rodney said, grunting as he slid his right leg down to join his left. "You've already tried to kill yourself for Atlantis, for earth, for random strangers. What's a little agony between friends?"

"Exactly," Sheppard said, gently but firmly grasping the wrist of Rodney's injured arm. He placed his other hand lightly on Rodney's shoulder, feeling the heat of the joint through his t-shirt. Rodney went rigid and watched the hand on his shoulder with horrified anticipation. "Hey, look at me, okay? Nothing to see there. Rodney." When Rodney still couldn't seem to pull his eyes away, Sheppard threw his command voice into it.

"McKay!"

Rodney's eyes shot to his.

"Good. Eyes on me. Nothing to see there, okay?" Sheppard said and waited until Rodney nodded. "Besides, we've been through a lot worse than this. This is nothing."

"Nothing," Rodney agreed, gritting his teeth as Sheppard manipulated his shoulder. "Not nearly as bad as you turning into a bug."

"Or you getting stuck in a submerged puddle jumper."

"Or you repeatedly fed on by a Wraith."

"Or you trying to ascend."

Rodney huffed. "Or you having the whole city turn against —" With a sharp jerk Sheppard popped the joint in and Rodney howled.

"Okay, all done. All done, Rodney," Sheppard said, hurriedly fastening his jacket around Rodney's neck as a makeshift sling. "You did good. All done."

Rodney nodded weakly and slumped back against the cave wall. He was panting a bit, working to catch his breath, but Sheppard could already feel his pulse slow down.

"You know," Rodney said tiredly as he closed his eyes, "that was every bit as horrible as I thought it would be."

Sheppard took the opportunity to run a hand through Rodney's hair and, yes, there was a good-sized lump just above and behind his left ear. He tugged Rodney's t-shirt up and found a streak of angry, darkening bruises, also on his left side. Light prodding found two — no, three — broken ribs.

Sheppard blew out a breath. He suddenly had a very vivid image of Rodney slamming into the rock face with the kind of force normally reserved for major car accidents, and he again felt the overwhelming urge to pummel something — himself this time because the ravine caused the damage but _he_ persuaded Rodney to come, _he_ failed to consider the safety of the bridge, _he_ lost his radio and —

"Stop it."

Sheppard glanced up. Rodney was awake, mostly, and glaring at him.

"Sorry, buddy," Sheppard said, withdrawing his hands and pulling Rodney's shirt back into place, "it looks like you've got a couple of broken ribs there."

"I didn't mean the poking and prodding — though _OW_, by the way — I mean stop blaming yourself."

Instead of responding, Sheppard snagged his day-pack and rummaged around until he found a bottle of water, a mint chocolate chip Powerbar and the small first aid kit with pain tablets. "You banged your head pretty good. How're you feeling?"

"Hurt. Queasy. Hurt," Rodney said, then gave him a look that clearly said _don't change the subject_.

Sheppard ignored the look, opting instead to twist the cap off the water and pop the pain tablets out of their blister pack. He handed them over, followed a few seconds later by the Powerbar he'd ripped open. Mint Powerbars were the only things that settled Rodney's stomach when he had a concussion.

The fact that he knew that — that such knowledge had come in handy not just once but multiple times — was disturbing enough to make his own stomach queasy.

Sheppard settled against the opposite wall, careful not to jostle his bruised ribs as he turned, bent and shuffled into a comfortable position that allowed him to both rest and keep an eye on Rodney. The cave was not wide, and when he stretched his legs out, his boots were parallel to Rodney's knees. "Sorry about the shoulder," he said.

Rodney stopped mid-chew. His gaze, which had been fixed on Sheppard, faltered. "Yes, about that," he said. "I, um, should have been braver."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Braver?"

"I shouldn't have made you — " Rodney wearily waved his good hand, the one holding the half-eaten Powerbar. "I've been shot before. Stabbed. Worse. I should have just, you know, sucked it up."

"Rodney," Sheppard said, incredulous at what he was hearing, who he was hearing it from. "You crashed into rock. You probably have a concussion, definitely have broken ribs, and your arm had been pulled out of its socket. You're saying you, what, should have embraced the idea of more pain?"

"Not embraced, no," Rodney hedged.

"Then?"

"I should have been more stoic, perhaps. Less of a . . . ." Rodney trailed off, leaving the blank unfilled. Instead, he took another bite of the bar and looked at Sheppard with what seemed to be an attempt at nonchalance. "It was my fault, anyway."

Ah. Sheppard crossed his arms. This should be good. "Your fault."

"I'm the physicist. I should have been able to tell the bridge was about to go."

"Uh huh."

"I should have been able to control my fall better," Rodney chewed thoughtfully, turning his face to the blue sky outside the cave entrance but casting Sheppard a sidelong glance. "I should have let go and hit the water instead of the side of a rock. My own fault. In fact, I'm a detriment to the safety of the team. I think I should resign."

Sheppard tried to control the grin that twitched at his lips. "Okay. So this is where I say 'Gosh, no, Rodney, it wasn't your fault. It was just an accident' and you say 'Then if it's an accident, Colonel, it wasn't your fault, either.'"

"Yes, exactly." Rodney nodded and swallowed the last of his Powerbar. "Did it work?"

"No."

Rodney balled up the Powerbar wrapper and threw it at him. "You can't control everything, Sheppard. I would have thought the last few months had shown you that."

Sheppard plucked the wrapper from his lap and rolled it around in his hand, forming a tighter ball. "The last few months showed me that losing people sucks and I'm going to try to make sure it happens as little as possible." He tossed the wrapper back, wondering how much of Rodney's confession had been fake for his benefit. He figured not all of it. "You're pretty damn brave, McKay. I would've thought the last few months, hell, years, had shown you that." He quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, hey, you took me on."

Rodney snorted. "In your _head_."

"Still," Sheppard said, and meant it.

They looked at each other for a moment, the only sound coming from the soft rush of the water outside. Then the cave went dark as the entrance was blocked by something large, something solid, something hovering twenty feet off the ground —

"Oh for crying out loud," Rodney said as the jumper hatch opened, providing a seamless walkway to the cave. Rodney turned and scowled at him as Keller rushed down the ramp. "I told you we could have waited!"

**_After Teyla returns_**

Sheppard knew the heavy ache of exhaustion. He knew the way it pulled you down, forcing you to claw your way through every hour, every minute, every second as you fought to stay awake. He knew the way your head buzzed with it, narrowing the world to a tunnel of hazy noise and too-bright light until you weren't even sure whether you were awake or asleep or in some strange twilight zone in between. It was easy to recognize in others, the heavy-lidded exhaustion that was just half a step before collapse. He'd seen it in Rodney more times than he could count. He'd seen it in Ronon twice.

But he'd never, ever seen it in Teyla.

Until now.

"Teyla," he said, carefully casual, when she sat down to breakfast cradling a sleeping Torren and bearing a tray loaded with an apple, three spoons, and mound of plastic straws, "how about letting the three of us babysit for a few hours?"

"_Us_?" Rodney said indignantly, a forkful of eggs hovering halfway to his mouth, forgotten. Then he followed Sheppard's gaze to Teyla's tray and his eyes went wide with recognition. "I mean, yes. Us. Babysit. Now's good."

Teyla smiled, small and weary, and shifted the baby in her arms. "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, particularly while Kanaan is away recuperating. But you have work to do and I could not impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition," Sheppard assured her.

"Plus, it's not like the colonel does any actual work," Rodney said, tucking back into his eggs.

Teyla picked up one of her spoons and then frowned down at her tray. "I meant to get toast."

"Maybe they're out?" Rodney tried helpfully.

"Ah, yes," Teyla said, as if that explained it.

"So," Sheppard said, keenly aware of the need to tread softly here since even an exhausted Teyla could kick his ass, "about that babysitting —"

Ronon stood and gently removed the baby from Teyla's arms. "You're tired beyond reason. Go to bed."

Sheppard froze and beside him Rodney gasped. Ronon was fearless but this… this wasn't like some basic unarmed standoff with a Wraith. This was _Teyla._ And _her son_.

Teyla blinked at Ronon. Then she slowly stood, her chair scraping across the mess hall floor with an ominous, echoing screech. Sheppard cringed and fought the urge to cover his eyes.

Teyla looked at Ronon for a long, silent moment.

Then she nodded.

"Yes," she said. "All right. That sounds like a very good idea." She then kissed the baby softly and left the mess.

Which, Sheppard realized, just showed how exhausted she was.

"Wow," Rodney breathed, staring after her. He shot Ronon a look that managed to both convey awe and question the Satedan's sanity. "You could have been killed."

"Naw, she was too tired," Ronon said, sitting down with Torren tucked securely in the crook of his arm. He smiled at the baby and ran a finger lightly over his forehead. "Besides, she was already half-asleep when she walked in here. She won't even remember what I said. "

"Good thing, big guy," Sheppard said and leaned across the table to nudge the blanket back from the baby's face.

Rodney pushed his empty plate to the side. "So," he said, half standing to peer over the table at Torren, "what do we do now?"

Ronon looked up and the three of them stared at each other for a moment. Then they stared at the baby.

"Um," Sheppard said.

Rodney sat back down. "This was your idea, Colonel."

Sheppard scratched the back of his neck and sank back into his chair. "I was going to go to the shooting range." Ronon and Rodney shot him twin looks of disbelief. "What? I didn't mean we should take him. I'm just saying I was — "

"Well," Rodney said with a sigh, "I was going to the lab, which, I think we can all agree, is also a bad place for a baby,"

"Gym," Ronon said.

They fell silent and looked at Torren. Every place in Atlantis suddenly seemed dangerous, loud, or both.

Rodney jolted in his seat and snapped his fingers furiously. "The jumpers! Let's take him to see the puddle jumpers. He'll love them."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Rodney, he's like ten days old."

"So?"

Sheppard opened his mouth to say _So you don't bring a baby to visit space ships_, but something in the back of his brain whispered _Why not?_

"It is quiet there," Sheppard agreed slowly, trying to find a flaw in the plan.

"Nothing that'll kill him, probably," Ronon said.

"He'll _love _it," Rodney emphasized.

They stood, Ronon and Rodney looking as relieved as he felt, and moved toward the door quickly and as quietly as humanly possible. None of them had dealt with an awake Torren yet.

"Hey, Ronon," Rodney said on the way, his voice filled with sudden alarm. "What if Teyla _does_ remember what you said?"


End file.
